


behind these two white highway lines

by stilesinwonderland (itsabravenewworld)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Long-Distance Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 19:47:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3221168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsabravenewworld/pseuds/stilesinwonderland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles calls the wrong number and comes across Derek Hale. This is what follows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	behind these two white highway lines

_[Saturday, 10:29 a.m.] it’s a nice day for a jog._

 

Attached is a photo of what looks like a park. Stiles snorts at his phone and takes a picture of the rain on his window, and then sends it to Derek.

 

**[Saturday, 10:30 a.m.] maybe for you**

 

**[Saturday, 10:30 a.m.] not that I would run anyways**

 

_[Saturday, 10:32 a.m.] i know, you’re probably eating cheetos right now_

 

**[Saturday, 10:33 a.m.] true. you know me so well**

 

_[Saturday, 10:36 a.m.] you’re really just predictable_

 

**[Saturday, 10:40 a.m.] how dare you. i’ll come all the way to nyc and fight you**

 

_[Saturday, 10:42 a.m.] wishful thinking_

 

Stiles laughs and sends a snapchat of his disappointed face.

 

**[Saturday, 10:43 a.m.] I regret accidentally texting you, you heathen**

 

Derek sends a snapchat back of him sticking his tongue out in a sweaty shirt, and he looks so great that Stiles screenshots it.

 

They’ve been texting and calling back and forth for almost a year, after Stiles had misdialed a pizza place. Derek, it turns out, still has a cell phone with a California area code, and he also is not here for Stiles’s shit.

 

They Skype sometimes too, and the valuable information he’s learned from that is that Derek is also very very hot. His hair, even when uncombed, looks extremely touchable and he’s got some awesome stubble going on 24/7.

 

But he’s actually a pretty cool dude, and what Stiles knows about him is this: he’s a huge grump at night and is a morning person, he’s a great cook, likes to jog, doesn’t have any pets because they’re too much work, and hates the rain. Plus, he probably thinks that Stiles is the greatest person in the world. Or maybe Stiles bothers him enough that he’s given up trying to rid himself of him.

 

Derek texts back an outraged emoji face. Stiles had introduced him to emojis; he’s so proud.

 

**[Saturday, 10:45 a.m.] you look hot though**

 

_[Saturday, 10:46 a.m.] you do too_

 

Stiles sends a picture of him making cross-eyes and Derek texts back right away.

 

_[Saturday, 10:46 a.m.] idiot_

 

Scott and Stiles are through their third hour of video games following a zombie movie marathon when Scott yawns and pauses the game, setting his controller down. He stretches his arms over his head, and Stiles knows he wants to ask something by the non discreet look on his face. “So how’s Derek doing?” he asks eventually, and Stiles frowns.

 

“Good, I guess,” Stiles answers slowly. Because Scott doesn’t really like Derek, so there’s a few ways this conversation could go.

 

Scott nods, that constipated look on his face still. “You are a thing now, right?”

 

And it went there.

 

“I,” Stiles starts, squinting. “Yeah. At least, I think so.”

 

“That’s weird.”

 

Stiles feels defensive all of a sudden. “What’s weird?”

 

“He lives in New York,” Scott points out. And that hits Stiles hard, because he obviously _knows_ that. They’ve talked about it before, and he wants to point it out every time and whine about it, but he's dealing with it. And Scott bringing it up all the time doesn’t help whatsoever. “You haven’t even kissed or anything.”

 

“A relationship isn’t just physical contact, dude,” Stiles frowns. Not that it wouldn’t be great; not that he doesn’t think about it _all the time._ But’s that’s besides the point, and Scott is completely missing it all. All of the points are flying over his head.

 

“I know, I know,” Scott says earnestly,  “but it’s just. It’s weird to me. What do you _do?”_

 

Stiles splutters for a few seconds, and feels completely ridiculous. “I don’t know, stuff. We call and talk. He’s funny is his own not-funny way.” Scott is still frowning at him, like he doesn’t understand Stiles at all. “Quit attacking me, dude,” he says, with no heat in it, because it’s hard to explain it all.

 

Scott’s expression softens, and Stiles stares resiliently at the TV. “Sorry. I’m not meaning to be a jerk about this.” Scott rubs at his own neck. Stiles shakes his head, because he’s not actually being a jerk, but Scott starts talking again. “Just because I don’t understand-- it’s just. I’m glad you’ve got this.”  
  


“Thanks,” Stiles says with a relieved sigh.

 

They grin at each other, and Scott punches him in the arm. “I’ve got work in the morning, so I’m gonna sleep. See you tomorrow.” He gets up and ruffles Stiles’s hair a little bit before shutting the lights off.

 

Stiles dials Derek’s number and taps his fingers against his thigh as it rings.

 

Derek grunts over the line; it sounds sleepy and maybe slightly irritated. That’s always how he sounds, but Stiles can tell the difference at this point. “What,” Derek growls.

 

“It’s cool to say we’re a thing, right?” Stiles says quickly, leaning back into the couch and maybe his breathing is a little too heavy, and Derek’s taking note. “I’m asking cause I told Scott that, and I actually don’t know if I lied to my best friend or not--”

 

“Stiles?” He says in confusion, because he must not have checked caller ID,  “it’s three in the morning, what the hell--”

 

Stiles checks the clock and, oh, he hadn’t realized that. “Sorry.”

 

There’s some rustling over the line, but Derek’s voice powers over it. “Yes, yeah. I think you’re safe to say that.” And he sounds insanely sure.  


He releases the breath he'd been holding, points the phone away so Derek won’t hear it. Stiles grins then, and there’s silence over the line for a few seconds. Eventually he says, painfully fond, “That’s good. I’m not a liar then.”

 

Derek sighs sleepily, and Stiles can picture the grin on his face that matches his own. “No. You’re not a liar.”

 

“It’s just…” Stiles sighs, frustrated and his eyes feel buggy from tiredness. Maybe he shouldn’t be having this conversation, but Derek sounds like he’s listening intently despite being half asleep. “We haven’t even done anything together, like gone on actual dates.”

 

“Skype dates count,” Derek says sourly, but his tone betrays that he might feel the same way despite all his protesting . Derek sighs over the line when Stiles tries to think through it. “Listen, Stiles. I like you. I thought that was clear.”

 

“It was, I think,” Stiles nods to himself, then remembers that Derek can’t see him. Right. He goes back to picking at the couch.

 

“It doesn’t bother me. Does it bother--”

 

“No,” Stiles interrupts anxiously. “It doesn’t bother me. The current situation isn’t a bad one, at all.” Except that they’re on the phone and thousands of miles away instead of talking face to face. They'll work it out.

 

“Good, then.” Derek sighs, and it’s more like heavy breathing than anything.

 

Stiles closes his laptop and curls into a ball on the couch, tossing the blanket over himself. “Sorry if I woke you up,” he says after another moment of hushed quiet.

 

“Don’t worry about it.” And Derek doesn’t _sound_ mad (Stiles isn’t prepared to process _how_ he sounds just now). He wonders if Derek is a sound sleeper and if he’s actually ruined his night.

 

But instead, he asks, “Do you wear pajamas to bed?”  

 

“What?”

 

“I just can’t tell. Usually you can tell what someone likes to wear to bed. Like you know that Scott is a pajamas guy, and I’m a t-shirt and pajama pants dude. I can’t tell with _you_ , though.”

 

Derek huffs a laugh. “Usually nothing, actually. Just my underwear.” His voice is pitched low when he says it, and anyone saying “underwear” shouldn’t be as hot as Derek makes it sound.

 

“Oh,” Stiles thinks his brain short-circuits. Because even though Skype’s video sucks, Stiles has seen Derek shirtless on video chat and the image of him wearing _nothing,_ even just in his mind _\--_ “Right,” he says, _chokes._

 

“Goodnight now, Stiles.”

 

“Hey! You can’t just--” And Derek hangs up, leaving Stiles staring at the bare wall, wondering what he did to deserve this.

 

He jerks off a little violently after that, almost kicks his laptop off of the couch in his haste to get his pants off, and lays there in shame for an hour before cleaning up. Scott ate all the cereal again so he ends up not having a late night snack, and passes out on an empty stomach instead.

 

Derek is kind of a dork, and likes to send Stiles videos of him making pancakes at one in the afternoon while Stiles is sleeping. Sometimes he even makes faces with chocolate chips and syrup, and it makes Stiles roll his eyes every time but grin nonetheless.

 

One of those times, Stiles calls him in the middle of breakfast to complain. “Yes?” Derek answers with, and Stiles makes a noise of frustration.

 

“You can’t just send me that when I have no cooking skills whatsoever and am eating cereal on Scott’s couch alone.” Okay, the couch isn’t so bad, no matter how much he complains about it. Scott and Stiles have lived together since graduating high school, and since getting their new apartment don’t have the room for two beds anywhere. Scott kicks in his sleep, too, and he paid for the bed, so Stiles gladly takes the couch to save himself from the bruises.

 

Derek chuckles, and doesn’t sounds remorseful at all. “Sorry.”

 

Stiles takes a bite of cinnamon toast crunch. “That’s fine. I’ll just suffer in silence.”

 

“I don’t know if that counts as silence if you complain endlessly about it,” Derek says drily.

 

“Shut it, you.” They eat in silence for a few moments, the only sounds are the ones of clinking dishes and chewing. Stiles thinks it probably should be gross but he’s not complaining. “What’re you up to today?”

 

Derek hums. “I’m going for a jog and then I have work.”

 

“Working with your hands today?” Stiles asks suggestively.

 

There’s a huff over the line. “We’re building a new library.” His voice is pitched lower than before, whether in shyness or something else, Stiles doesn’t know.

 

“Hot,” Stiles mutters offhandedly as Scott’s bedroom door opens and Derek snorts.

 

“Who’re you talking to?” Scott asks, slinking out of his bedroom door looking all kinds of trashed. Stiles points to Scott’s bowl of cereal waiting for him because he likes it soggy, the _heathen_.

 

“Derek,” Stiles says, pulling his knees up so Scott can slump onto the couch.

 

“What?” Derek asks.

 

“Hey Derek,” Scott greets sleepily with a mouthful of cereal, loudly enough for Derek to hear.

 

“Oh. Hi, Scott.” He sounds kind of disgusted with the squishing noise of Scott’s cereal in his mouth, but doesn’t say anything. “Are you guys doing something today?”

 

“I’ll probably bother Scott at work while I write some papers,” Stiles muses.

 

“I’m sorry Scott,” Derek says loudly and Scott sighs long-sufferingly. He’s much less wary about him since their talk.

 

“Hey!” Stiles squawks. “You own a coffee shop. I am a coffee addicted college student. You act so surprised every time.”

 

Scott sighs again. “At least you give me the business.”

 

“I should throttle you, after all these years,” Stiles curses. “Go for your jog, I have to murder my best friend.”

 

Derek chuckles again. “Bye, Stiles.”

 

“Bye.” He doesn’t realize he’s smiling stupidly until he notices Scott watching him. “What?”

 

“Nothing. Put some pants on,” Scott orders, and runs away when Stiles strips off his shirt and yells “I CAN’T BE TAMED” before collapsing onto the floor and crawling after him as he yells in horror.

  
  


Stiles is wondering if he should get out of the shower or stay there to prune away when Scott comes home and yells his name. After almost falling out of the shower, he gets out and dries off, slipping a t-shirt and boxers on.

 

“What?”

 

“Happy birthday!” Scott yells, tossing a bag at him. It hits Stiles in the face with a loud thump and Stiles barely manages to catch it before it falls to the floor.

 

“I hope there wasn’t glass in there,” Stiles mumbles. “Thanks dude,” he says when he opens the bag to three gift cards wrapped up in a new band shirt.

 

Scott’s sitting on the counter and points with his thumb to a huge box on the counter. “That one came in the mail today.”

 

“Dad?” His dad usually never sends him actual packages in the mail; he always picks him up on the weekend after his birthday and takes him to dinner and slips a twenty into his pocket when he’s not looking. He tilts his head at the package, almost as wide as the island in the middle of the kitchen.

 

Scott shakes his head. “It says Derek on it.”

 

Stiles walks up to the package, looks at the return address, and yep. That’s Derek’s name.

His head is fuzzy as he facetimes Derek’s number and waits for him to pick up, staring at the packaging intently, and Scott hovering over his shoulder with a mixed worried and curious expression. “Yeah,” Derek answers, peering at his own screen.

 

He’s in glasses and a tight t-shirt and he’s probably gone for a run just now which just isn’t _fair._ How is he supposed to interrogate Derek like that?

 

“What is this?” Stiles flips the camera around towards the package and Derek just looks a little pleased with himself.

 

“So it got there on time? Happy birthday.”

 

“You sent me a present,” Stiles says, disbelievingly. He can see himself in the bottom corner just gaping.

 

“Open it up, then,” Derek tells him with a dip of his chin. Stiles does, tearing into the paper surrounding the box and trying to deal with the tape holding the box closed under Derek’s scrutiny is harder than he’d thought and he spends a few seconds cursing and tearing at the cardboard. “Ha!” he says in victory, and opens the flap of the box.

 

“Yo,” Scott says over his shoulder, because he’s gone completely silent.

 

“You bought me a _Playstation_ for my birthday because I complained about mine being _old_.” Stiles looks at the packaging and Derek’s handwriting on the wrapping paper. There’s even a little heart at the corner of his name, and Stiles’s chest thuds painfully.

 

“That I did,” Derek affirms.

 

He could complain about the price, that it’s too much money and Derek shouldn’t be wasting money on him, but Derek would never have that.

 

Stiles breathes in, and Scott leaves the room, taking the Playstation to hook it up in the living room. “After my own heart,” he says when Scott is gone, placing a hand on his chest, trying not to sound choked up over a gaming system. Or maybe it’s not because of the gaming system, but he’s totally veering away from that train of thought.  “I didn’t get you anything for your birthday. I’m a horrible boyfriend.”

 

Derek makes a disgruntled noise, shaking his head. “No.” And that seems to be that.

 

It hits like a punch to the stomach just then how much he actually _likes_ Derek, and the thought comes forcing its way back into his mind. Derek’s really bad at conversing, and is angry almost all of the time, but he just--

 

“I love you, man,” Stiles says, and then he panics. “I mean, I uh. Shit.” But he can’t take it back, because it’s the _truth,_ and how stupid is he for getting so caught up in someone that’s three thousand miles away-- who hasn’t even said a word about his confession yet.

 

Derek’s face is pinched in what looks like concern, and Stiles’s heart is beating a tattoo against his neck. He almost apologizes, makes an excuse or even hangs up because this is hard to deal with, but then Derek clears his throat. “Stiles?”

 

“Yeah?” Stiles asks, wishing the earth would swallow him up whole.

 

“You too,” he says, looking right at the camera. Stiles’s breath shudders out in one go. “I love you too, you know.”

 

“ _God,”_ Stiles breathes out quietly. He grins. “Now I do, I guess.”

 

The line goes silent for a while, and it’s nothing close to uncomfortable.

 

“So, Mr. Anderson came to his lecture in a cape today,” Stiles tells Derek.

 

“Isn’t that the third time this week?” Derek asks with an arch of his eyebrow, probably anxious to change the course of the conversation.

 

“He takes his Spartan history very seriously. He brought a dory yesterday and stuck it into the floor.” He accompanies this with a vicious stabbing motion which probably makes him look like he’s jerking off.

 

Derek chuckles, pointing at his phone. “He stabbed through the wood?”

 

“Now that I think about that, it probably wasn’t that cool,” Stiles says awkwardly.

 

Derek laughs, showing his neck off by tilting his head back. “Idiot.”

 

“Yeah,” Stiles says, and it’s stupidly fond.

  
  


Stiles is a little drunk. Well maybe more than a little, he thinks as he leans against the wall for support because his head is fuzzy and everything looks weird. Scott helps him up the stairs into their apartment and lays him on the couch, but in a gentle way that doesn’t rattle Stiles’s head too much. He mutters about getting him some pain meds and water before leaving the room.

 

Through the haze, Stiles digs in his pocket for his phone. The letters are a little blurry, but he figures that’s because of the late hour, so he squints determinedly. It hurts his head to do much, but he feels tired more than anything. Scott comes back in so he sets his phone down and takes the pills that are offered to him, downing them with a huge sip of water. “Thanks,” he slurs. “You’re a good friend, Scotty.”

 

“I know,” Scott answers right away, tousling Stiles’s hair with a tiny grin. “Get some rest, dude, you look like shit.”

 

He gently prods Stiles into laying down and tosses a blanket at him, muttering something about not tucking him in. Stiles peels at the blanket and pulls it over his shoulders. He glares at his phone, like it contains the meaning to life on it. Then he dials Derek’s number.

 

“Stiles? What’s wrong?” Derek says on the third ring.

 

“You always think something’s wrong,” Stiles complains straightaway, but his chest feels warm because Derek cares that much.

 

“You have a habit of calling here late at night when you’re distressed. And you sounds drunk. Are you alright?”

 

Stiles thinks that he wants to see Derek’s face to talk to him, but he doesn’t know how to change to facetime and makes an angry noise. “I want to see you,” he says frustratedly.

 

Then he breathes raggedly, because that’s hit it right on the head. “I want to _see_ you. It’s not-- nothing’s the same, you know?”

 

“Yeah,” Derek answers after a long pause. And he gets it even though Stiles isn’t making much sense, probably. “I know.”

 

Stiles buries his face into his pillow. His eyes are starting to blur as the alcohol really hits him and he fluffs the pillow beneath his head because he wants to be _awake._  “I want to know that you’re here.”

 

“I _am,”_ Derek says, voice tight.

 

Shaking his head, Stiles grunts. “Y’know what I mean.”

 

There’s no noise over the line. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t be,” Stiles says sleepily. “Blame three thousand miles.”

 

He starts snoring before he can hang up.

  
  
  


It doesn’t come up again until a few weeks later, until Stiles is sitting in the coffee shop and typing his thesis paper (well he’s actually just consuming coffee like the addict he is and looking up facts that don’t matter), bent down within an inch of his laptop screen and listening to music on his phone. The ringing of his phone interrupts his favorite song so he quickly answers and says “Stiles Stilinski here,” hoping that it’s just a machine.

 

“Hey.” It’s Derek, and he’s definitely not a machine.

 

Stiles saves his draft, and hastily unplugs his headphones, putting the phone to his ear. “Hey,” he chokes out when all is said and done. “What’s up?”

 

“You’re going to be home for spring break, right?”

 

“Of course, I live in California,” Stiles takes a sip of his coffee, and when the line stays quiet, he adds, “Why?”

 

The line goes quiet for a couple of seconds, but then Derek says, “I’m coming to Beacon Hills.”

 

He fumbles with the coffee cup on the table and it almost goes flying everywhere. A girl next to him shoots her head up, startled, but he ignores her. “ _What?_ Really?”

 

Derek chuckles, probably knowing that Stiles had almost knocked a ton of things over, like he’d expected it. “Yeah. I saved up some money for a week-long trip back home. I figured that you don’t like surprises, so. Haven’t bought the tickets yet, but it’s a done deal if you want.” That means he usually wouldn’t come down unless Stiles wanted him to.

 

“Hell yeah, oh my god, are you dumb?”

 

“Well, if you’re going to call me dumb, then--”

 

“Shut up, I am allowed a freak-out. You’re serious?” He wishes he could stare him down to know if he’s messing with him or not.

 

“ _Yes,”_ Derek says, sounding exasperated. “

 

“It’s been a _year_ ,” Stiles stresses. “Yes, I’d like to see you. You must be crazy--”

 

“Again with the insults,” Derek says, but he sounds more relieved than anything. “Did I interrupt something?” he asks, suddenly.

 

“Just my thesis,” Stiles isn’t really paying attention because of the fact that Derek is visiting, Derek is visiting, Derek is coming to him.

 

“I’ll let you get back to it, then.”

 

He hangs up, and Stiles squawks at his phone. The girl next to him huffs and moves across the shop, and Stiles says to himself, “He always does that. I _hate_ when he does that.”

  
  


Stiles is laying in his bed on a Friday when his phone buzzes in his ass pocket. He lifts his hips and opens his text messages to see a picture from Derek. It’s of a duffel bag and another small bag, set up on his bare bed.

 

_[Friday, 3:17 p.m.] i’m ready_

 

They haven’t talked much since the phone call where Derek had broken the news. Stiles’s silence is the result of nerves eating away at him for absolutely no reason, and Derek’s extended silence hasn’t been helping matters. He has the irrational thought that maybe Stiles being the first person to see him might be a disappointment. After all, he has family that he’s coming down to see, and that he probably hasn’t seen in years.

 

He looks down at himself and his dirty hoodie, too-washed jeans and sighs.

 

**[Friday, 3:23 p.m.] turns out i can’t meet you tomorrow because i have a family member’s birthday party**

 

**[Friday, 3:25 p.m.] we can see each other later in the week**

 

That way, it gives him time to maybe clean up the apartment, too. When Derek just texts back “okay, that’s no problem,” it relieves him, but makes him feel worse all the time. He sinks down into the cushions, ends up cleaning the living room spotless anyways, just for something to do.

  
  


“Today’s the day Derek’s coming.” Scott doesn’t ask, because he already knows. It’s early morning and the shop is full because everyone needs their fix of coffee to start the day. And Stiles is sitting in a hoodie and jeans, wondering when he got so observant.

 

“I told him I wasn’t going to be here when he arrived,” Stiles admits before Scott can guilt him into telling.

 

Scott looks at him with something stomach-churning like _pity._ Stiles doesn’t want pity, but he knows that Scott has to give him it, because of best friend duties. “Stiles.”

 

“Don’t.” Stiles sets his head on the counter and bangs his fist on the wood. “Don’t do that. I’m okay with just waiting to see Derek.” Scott actually listens and doesn’t talk, which kind of makes him feel worse about it. “I just kept thinking, like, he’s really cool. And he’s going to see me and remember, “oh yeah, I’m a god and don’t know what this nerd is about. I mean, I’m probably good in theory, but.”

 

“People aren’t theoretical.”

 

“Sure they are. Theoretical means not--”

 

“Stiles, stop.” Stiles does, sipping at his coffee even though his heart is pumping in triple time. “At first when you told me, I didn’t know how much I liked him. Because meeting people online is weird. For me, at least.” Stiles nods in understanding.

 

“Maybe it is, though.”

 

“Not for _you two_ ,” Scott disagrees. Stiles looks up in shock at him. “Dude, he skyped with you when you were playing Xbox in your underwear and eating hour-old hot pockets.” A customer drinking at the counter looks their way curiously, and sips from her cup excitedly like they’re day-time TV.

 

Stiles thinks he might have become day-time TV.

 

Grimacing, Stiles sips at the coffee Scott sets in front of him. “That is a thing that happened,” he affirmed.

 

“If he can deal with that, I think he deserves for you to go see him,” Scott says, like he’s spelling it out.

 

Stiles stares at the counter for a long moment. Derek _has_ seen him at his worst already. He hops off the chair and hurriedly pushes it back in. “Fuck,” he says with wide eyes, because he doesn’t know how he could have managed to fuck this up. Frantically, he tears his wallet off the counter and throwing it into his hoodie pocket.

 

“You better not be going home to mope!” Scott calls after him. “I was being supportive, but if I have to--”

 

Stiles turns back right in front of the door, hastily yells “I’m going to the airport!” and runs out as Scott shouts something affirmative his way. It’s drizzling a little bit, enough to dampen his hair as he runs a beeline to his car. He checks the clock on his dash and breathes in heavily; Derek had been taking an early flight and his plane should be arriving in a half-hour, so if he guns it, he can definitely make it there before he shows up.

The Jeep doesn’t want to start at first but he gets it started after five minutes and a few encouraging taps to the steering wheel, then he swerves his way out of the parking lot and heads towards the highway.

 

His car gets a less-than impressive parking spot in the back of the airport lot because he’s not wasting time finding something closer. Stiles ignores the friendly greetings from employees and rushes past them with a quick greeting and a “no thanks” to coupons for the food court.

 

It’s crowded because it’s a Saturday and people are all going on trips, so it’s harder to get past them without forcing his way. He hastily tries to find the latest flight from New York and finds La Guardia in terminal H4. The time says he’s a few minutes late, so he starts running. Derek’s terminal should be all the way in the back and he dodges past the people walking from their plane to get there quicker. He bumps into a woman and apologizes hastily when she protests but doesn’t look back.

 

When he gets to H3, he can see a small crowd of people coming his way, which means he hasn’t missed it. H4 is right after it and he vaguely catches sight of Derek. As Derek takes in his surroundings, he looks right at Stiles and freezes for a moment.

 

Stiles keeps walking, too far away to say anything to catch anyone’s attention.

 

He has headphones hooked over the handle of his bag and all he’s wearing is a t-shirt and jeans that look impressively good on him, especially since his hair is fluffed like he’s taken a nap recently, probably on the plane. “I thought you said--” Derek says a little loudly and the look of shock on his face does something weird to Stiles’s chest.

 

“I lied,” Stiles interrupts, lifting his arms in defeat, still walking towards him, and Derek is doing the same. He watches emotions swell across Derek’s face-- his actual 3-dimensional _face;_ and it’s unreal how hot he is. But beyond that, he looks so confused and excited at the same time that Stiles grins.

 

Stiles almost meets him completely as Derek fights his way past other passengers meeting family, but he finds himself choked at the last second. He doesn’t know if it’s the shock that Derek is _here_ getting the best of him or if he’s simply stunned at Derek’s overwhelming presence, but it doesn’t matter anyways because Derek closes the space between them in no time at all, in the middle of the airport waiting area, and kisses him.

 

Stiles’s brain shorts out and he thinks _what_ but Derek just leans his body in and brackets his face with his large palms. His back presses against a huge pillar, and Derek’s body is relentless and warm against his front, easing his shock. So he just kisses back.

 

It’s a great first kiss, and it’s familiar at the same time that it’s brand new. Derek’s fingers caress his jaw gently but his hips are a steady weight against his own and Stiles grabs onto them to gain leverage and to lick into Derek’s mouth, because Derek is _awesome_ at that, with his stubble leaving a faint trace of a sting.

 

“You looked nervous,” Derek mumbles when they break apart, thumb stroking at Stiles’s cheekbone. “Don’t be.”

 

Stiles’s breath shudders out of him all at once. “Okay,” he says, and kisses him with a hand on his arm. “Skype is a liar,” Stiles says against Derek’s mouth, and Derek separates them.

 

“Hm?” He says, his arms hooked around Stiles and one is above his head on the pillar so he’s _hovering._ His eyes are dark and intense and Stiles thinks he might not have been prepared for this mentally, because his hand is reaching up to clench Derek’s shirt and pull him in, and Derek’s face squishes in concern, like Stiles’s brain is fried.

 

“You are so much better looking than Skype suggests, is all,” Stiles says. Derek sighs in relief and bumps their foreheads together for a split second with a grin. “Dirty liar. I _hate_ liars--”

 

Derek shuts him up with another kiss, a gentle but insistent press of the lips. “You’re weird.”

 

“Tell me something I don’t know,” he snarks back, protesting when Derek pinches him on the side in retaliation with a completely serious face.

 

“What now?” Derek asks quietly, and Stiles is sure the rest of the airport is watching them at this point. There’s a flash out of the corner of his eye that catches their attention, and they look at the small crowd watching them with various expressions of awe.

 

“Whatever you like; you’re the guest,” He says, leaning off the pillar to stand up all the way, attempting to fix his hair.

 

Derek smiles wolfishly and kisses him with two hands cradling his neck.  

 

They visit Scott at the shop and Derek introduces himself (he’s absolutely charming in his own antisocial way), but not before they take an extensive tour of the couch they’ve been Skyping on the past year and a half.

 

Scott never really forgives them for it.  

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the new Fall Out Boy song "Jet Pack Blues"  
> I hope you liked it!!!


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